


if there’s no neighborhood

by momentofmemory



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: ...Technically, Canon Compliant, Covid-19 Related, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Inspired by Real Events, New York Loves Peter Parker, Pandemic - Freeform, Peter Parker loves New York, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentofmemory/pseuds/momentofmemory
Summary: Emptyis not a word Peter’s ever thought to pair with the streets of New York.Plenty of other words, sure. Chaotic, loud, crowded. Sweltering, freezing, humid. Destroyed, rebuilt, upended.But New York—New Yorkers—are tough like that. A thousand and one paradoxes, wrapped up in a single space.
Relationships: Peter Parker & New York
Comments: 38
Kudos: 99





	if there’s no neighborhood

**Author's Note:**

> A short piece inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRe-514tGMg) live stream of Times Square, and the general state of the world.
> 
> Beta'd by [LuthienKenobi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienKenobi).

_Empty_ is not a word Peter’s ever thought to pair with the streets of New York.

Plenty of other words, sure.

Chaotic, loud, crowded. Sweltering, freezing, humid. Destroyed, rebuilt, upended.

But New York— _New Yorkers—_ are tough like that. A thousand and one paradoxes, wrapped up in a single space.

There’s a rhythm that comes with his city—the way it pulses with life and death, cheering and weeping. Its streets are its veins, and its people, its lifeblood. But tonight, it’s just—

Empty.

In hindsight, it’s probably something they should’ve seen coming. Alongside Earth’s sudden influx of population (or rather, repopulation), there’d been a resurgence of old diseases—and the introduction of new ones, thanks to the accompanying alien invasion. With the recrowding of cities and housing up in the air for so many people, it was probably only a matter of time before something spiraled out of control.

It just would’ve been nice to have more than a couple months between global crises.

As it is, Peter’s not even sure if he’s supposed to be out right now, instead of carefully sequestered like the rest of the city. Vigilantism has always been on the fuzzier edges of the law, so it’s not like he’d expected to see his name on the essential jobs list. But—well. Swinging some two hundred feet above the ground probably covers the appropriate distancing guidelines.

He soars over a residential area, and the sight of the empty basketball courts sends an unexpected pang through his chest. He can’t remember a time when they were ever this silent—not since he’s been Spider-Man, not since he played there as a child, not since Ben.

He swings into the next block, the silence nipping at his heels.

_(And in the city that never sleeps, hurtling forty miles an hour across the sky, Peter swears he hears crickets for the first time.)_

It’s not like the whole city is quiet, of course. The healthcare centers are a constant stream of rapid footsteps and commanding voices; beeping machines and praying families. May, he knows, is only just now getting off a twelve-hour shift at F.E.A.S.T., though whether she’ll actually leave after clocking out is a different story.

So he swings, and swings—pausing only to do an extra backflip for the lonely kids staring out from their fire escapes, or to run a quick errand for the at-risk tenants afraid to leave their apartments.

_(He’s never been more grateful for the antimicrobial properties built into his suit; he takes as many trips as he can when he realizes the potential.)_

The night wanes on, and the already quiet city grows quieter: sightings less often, and stops less frequent. Peter normally keeps his patrol to the confines of Queens, content to leave the other boroughs to their own vigilantes, but tonight the city feels small enough to fit inside the parabola of a single swing.

Peter keeps going.

He swings out of Forest Hills and past Sunnyside; through the empty parks and across Queensboro Bridge; deep into the streets of Manhattan herself. He doesn’t fully realize his chosen path has a goal until he drops onto the flag pole overlooking Times Square.

He perches there for a moment, waiting for the gently rocking pole to recover its equilibrium, and stares down at the most famous intersection in the city.

It’s a bizarre sight.

The pavement is visible, for one: strange patterns of sun-bleached concrete next to the original, darker areas, normally shaded by parked cars or milling pedestrians. For another, the entrance to the TKTS has been blocked off: instead of hopeful fans, the only thing occupying the entrance is a row of red and white chairs, stacked mournfully by the black fences.

There are no tourists, gawking up at the sky and crowding the sidewalks. There are no car horns, blasting out their displeasure at the other’s existence. There are no voices, tripping over each other in a blend of tongues and emotion.

 _(Peter doesn’t know how a city that’s so quiet can feel so_ loud _.)_

The large screens advertising various products scroll on, unbothered. Traffic lights tick on and off for no one. A pair of pigeons coo from the eaves.

Rationally, Peter knows the empty streets are nothing like the carnage that would’ve been left behind after the first Snap, but he can’t help but feel the echo of its hand in the oppressive silence. Can’t help but wonder _how long_.

Two cars pass by.

A bicycle.

Three pedestrians, separate: keeping to opposite sides of the street to avoid contact.

Peter watches as one of them, a young woman wearing a bright red mask, halts at the edge of the street. She nods to the elderly man caddy-corner to her—he smiles, and crosses quickly. The woman only proceeds once he’s safely past.

The lenses of Peter’s suit widen in surprise.

Like May, and like Ben, Peter’s lived in New York his entire life—so there’s not much he doesn’t know about its inner workings.

He knows that finding a cab at five p.m. is hopeless; that there’s no such thing as jaywalking; that driving is always, always slower than the train, no matter what the cabbie says. He knows how to argue in six different languages, even if he doesn’t know how to say hello; he knows all the bodegas with the best deals, and how to make them better; he knows the train is simultaneously the most hallowed and most godless place in the entire city.

Which means he also knows, most importantly and without a shred of doubt, that no one _ever_ gives up the right of way willingly.

Peter watches the two New Yorkers until they’ve both either rounded the corner, or simply walked out of sight.

He sinks lower onto his haunches as he thinks. Then Peter looks out over the space that had felt so lonely, at the deserted streets and vacant stores and empty chairs, and—

And he loves his city.

During the Blip, New York’s streets were empty because someone decided to _take_. But now—now New York’s streets are empty because millions of people decided to _give_.

Give time, to find better ways to fight this. Give space, to all the overcrowded hospitals. Give resources, to those that need them most.

And give the middle finger to Thanos and every person like him, because _No,_ some lives are _not_ worth less than others.

Peter wobbles in place for another moment, then fires a web at a nearby building and swings down.

He starts stacking chairs.

_[img desc: An aerial view of Times Square, showing the Father Duffy Statues area. In the middle of the empty intersection, there is a fenced off section leading up to the TKTS stairs. There, prominently displayed, is a group of red and white chairs/tables arranged in the shape of the famous "I heart NY" design.]_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or on [tumblr](https://momentofmemory.tumblr.com/). <3


End file.
